


I'd Like It If You'd Stayed

by loonyBibliophile



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Tattoo Shop AU, i have no idea what this is how it happened or whyit's so long, nothing graphic i promise, self harm mentions later on in story, skye and grant and trip are all dating each other because why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2139984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loonyBibliophile/pseuds/loonyBibliophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day of reckoning came on an unusually hot day, and he only noticed the girl because she wore long pants, despite the temperature outside being well over ninety. She looked out of place in the tattoo parlor, in her dark jeans and modest button down tee shirt, with her long wavy hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. her hands fidgeted nervously at the waist of her pants, like she’d have been fidgeting with the hem of her shirt had it not been tucked in. </p><p>"Can I help you?" he called out as he finished cleaning up scraps of paper from the design he’d drawn for the client he’d just finished with. </p><p>"Uh, yes, hello. I think anyway?"</p><p>"No offense, but a tattoo parlor isn’t really the place for ‘maybe’ and the like."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd Like It If You'd Stayed

The bell over the door rings as it’s pushed open, and Skye walks in purposefully, Trip and Ward trailing dutifully behind her. Fitz doesn’t look up from his sketch, recognizing the trio of footsteps belong to his friend and her boyfriends, or the security detail, as he’d always playfully called them. 

"Hey Fitz." she chorused brightly, throwing herself onto the black leather couch in the front left corner of the small shop. He didn’t look up yet, but he knew Trip would give a one handed wave and a smile, and Ward would nod, and then they’d sit down on either side of her. 

"Just a sec." he said in lieu of a real greeting, gesturing at the paper under his hand. A few more strokes later, he nodded contently and looked up finally, allowing himself a small and fond smile at the sight on his sofa. Skye had her head on Ward’s shoulder, but her arms were both wrapped around one of Trip’s, which was slung casually across her torso. Trip’s other arm was stretched around both Skye and Ward, tugging them all closer. Ward looked grumpy, but then, Ward almost always looked grumpy.

"I’m vetting you." she said with a grin, before he could ask what she wanted. 

"What?"

"I need a new tattoo so I can vet you. For a friend." 

"Skye, I have given you three tattoos, you do not need me to give you another to prove my skill. You are clearly looking for an excuse." 

"Oh, whatever. Regardless I’m getting a tattoo and there’s probably a referral in it for you if you promise not to be too… prickly with her."

"Prickly? I am not prickly!" 

"You’re a little prickly." Ward shrugged. 

"A little prickly? Boy’s a cactus." Trip said with a chuckle, smiling apologetically at Fitz, who rolled his eyes. 

"Yeah yeah, okay. So what if I’m grumpy? I’m good at my job. What do you want done?" he looked at the trio over his shoulder as he pinned what he’d been working on to the left wall of the shop. 

"I want a life preserver on the back of my neck. Like, right on that knot at the top of my spine?"

"Yeah, okay. Might be a kind of a literal pain in the neck for you there though, right against the bone, but I can do it. Do y’have something or want me to do something for you?"

"Fitz, when have I ever been that prepared?"

"I’ll get right to it then." he said, but only after rolling his eyes. "D’you want color?"

"Yeah, just red and white though." 

"Alright." he resumed his sketches, making mental note of where he’d place color and shading, before moving the design on transfer paper and holding it up for Skye. "Work for ya?"

"Yep!" she answered brightly, and then swept her hair up into a tight bun, her fingers quick and practiced. She moved into the chair and leaned heavily against it, wriggling until she was comfortable. Inking Skye was familiar to Fitz. She’d been his first customer, after his apprenticeship was up, and he’d tattooed her twice since. The Chinese character for ‘Persevere’ in plain black on her right outer ankle, a pattern of lines and dots on her left shoulder, making up the shape of the constellation of Aquila the eagle, and an elaborate open birdcage wound with vines on the back of her left thigh. He’d given Trip a tattoo once too, about a year before, a little after he and Skye and Ward had started up their relationship. A red and gold compass on his right bicep. 

Fitz had known the three of them since his last year of college, back when Skye jokingly called Ward and Trip her ‘weird older brothers’, before the night the three got drunk and started making out and just never stopped. Or at least that was how Skye always told it. Ward was a military brat with a shitty past who almost never talked about himself, Trip was a military brat with a mother who would pull the moon out of the sky for him, and Skye was a foster kid who spent most of her life with no one but herself to depend on. He’d met Trip first, they had classes together, Skye second, through Trip, and Ward last, through Skye, because he was older and already done with school. Not that engineering school had done much for Fitz, having decided to abandon the practice to become a tattoo artist, which oddly enough had worked out much better. He’d run his own shop for three years now, and made enough to only take on the occasional odd mechanical job to make things easier. 

He pressed transfer paper to Skye’s skin, making sure the lines were straight and even and nothing has smudged before arranging a few mirrors so she could see it and approve. When she nodded, he washed his hands, put on his gloves and got to work. For all her jumping and fidgeting in normal life, Skye was a remarkably good tattooing client. She stayed as still as anyone he’d ever seen, except maybe Ward, if Ward ever got a tattoo. Ward stood so still sometimes Fitz thought teh man might have evolved past the need to breathe and blink. The life preserver, white with black shading and red stripes, took about two hours, and Skye’s skin was bright red by the time he was done. Smearing the fresh tattoo with a sheen of ointment, he held up the mirrors again and Skye beamed. 

"Perfect as always, Fitz. Seriously, I love it." 

"Good. It is permanent after all." he gave a good natured smirk and then covered the tattoo in plastic wrap, taping it firmly. "Don’t forget to take that off in a few hours, and I’m sure you know to wash it three times a day and use plenty of ointment, but I’m telling you anyway." 

"Yeah yeah, I know the drill." she grinned and rolled her eyes, then pulled a handful of twenties from her wallet. "Keep the change, consider it a tip." 

"You know you get a discount, Skye." Fitz said warily, eying the money.

"I know. But I just got paid and I’m feeling generous, so roll with it." 

"Well, thanks. I’m not gonna say it won’t help, because it will." he smiled sheepishly. 

"No problem. Well, I’m gonna tell Simmons about you, and maybe she’ll be by. She’s kinda anxious and cagey so she might take awhile to figure out what she wants. But I know she wants something. Not that she’ll tell me why or where. She’s cagey that way. Kinda like you." Skey stuck out her tongue, and Fit rolled his eyes once more at her reference to his continual refusal to let her see the tattoos that traced his upper arms and shoulder blades. 

"Alright. Just makes sure she says who sent her, and I’ll give her a break on the costs and make sure I take care of her. Now get outta here, I have to close up soon." 

"Byyyye, Fitz." Skye wiggled her fingers in a wave, and swung out the door, followed closely once again by Ward, who gave a surprisingly warm smile and a tight wave, and Trip, who nodded and grinned. 

A week passed before this mysterious friend of Skye’s appeared. And it was a good week, too. Fitz had at least one appointment and two walk ins every day, and only two drunk people causing chaos and trying to cajole him into doing a tattoo while they were inebriated. The day of reckoning came on an unusually hot day, and he only noticed the girl because she wore long pants, despite the temperature outside being well over ninety. She looked out of place in the tattoo parlor, in her dark jeans and modest button down tee shirt, with her long wavy hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. her hands fidgeted nervously at the waist of her pants, like she’d have been fidgeting with the hem of her shirt had it not been tucked in. 

"Can I help you?" he called out as he finished cleaning up scraps of paper from the design he’d drawn for the client he’d just finished with. 

"Uh, yes, hello. I think anyway?"

"No offense, but a tattoo parlor isn’t really the place for ‘maybe’ and the like." he meant it playfully, but it came out harsher than intended, because he’d been knocked off balance by the distinctly British sound of her voice.

"Oh, I know, I’m just. A friend sent me. I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo done and my friend told me to come to you." the girl was clearly flustered, and Fitz immediately felt bad for his comment. 

"I reckon you’re Simmons then? Skye’s friend?" 

"Yes! That’s me. I’m Simmons." she smiled finally, a bright and honest thing that made Fitz feel like someone might have just kicked him square in the chest. He took her extended hand and shook it. "Not exactly dressed for the weather are you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at his long sleeves. 

"Neither are you." he said dryly, but his lips quirked into a grin as he looked pointedly at her jeans. 

"Touche." she grinned, and he could almost see the anxiety draining from her face and shoulders. 

"I’m Fitz, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Fitz." 

"So you want a tattoo?"

"I think I do. I’m still deciding. I’m a very… careful person." There’s something strange about the way she says careful, like instead she might mean frightened or traumatized, but Fitz figures he’s just projecting and keeps his mouth shut. "I was wondering if I might just… hang around for a few days? Watch you work, see what people get done, and just observe, before I make a decision? I promise I’m quiet and well behaved." it’s a strange request, and Fitz doesn’t really like it when people watch him work, but he finds himself nodding anyway. 

"Yeah, sure. I don’t see why not." 

"Thank you so much! I really appreciate it." she smiles again, and Fitz’s chest throbs. But no further conversation happens because the bell rings above the door and then Fitz has a customer. While he talks design and colors and works on sketches and lettering over the counter, Simmons walks around the shop and looks at the photos and sketches and prints on the walls. There’s a mix of color and black and white designs, as well as several hand lettered alphabets. There’s a picture of Skye, with Trip standing behind her holding her leg up so you could see the fresh tattoo on her ankle. She’s making an enthusiastic two handed thumbs up, and Fitz does the same next to her, although more reluctantly. The image makes Simmons smile, and she looks at other photographs of what she assumes Fitz views as his best work. The birdcage on Skye’s thigh, a full back piece of angel wings, singed and burning at the tips, and an elaborate chest piece of gears and flowers over what looks like a heart surgery scar. 

She hears the buzz of the gun start up, and she wanders over and stands a respectful distance away to watch. The client is laying on his stomach with his shirt off, while Fitz slowly and methodically inks a series of feathers across his back and down his spine. The man’s fists clench once or twice, but other than that he doesn’t seem to react to what must have been somewhat significant pain levels. Her hands itch over her thighs instinctively. Eventually, her gaze drifts to Fitz’s hands, and then his face, and she smiles at the look of rapt concentration she finds there. She watches his hands again as he smoothes ointment on the finished tattoo and bandages it carefully.

"So what did you think?" Fitz asks at the end of the day, looking over to where Simmons has settled into a spare chair.

"You’re very good. You have astonishingly steady hands and exemplary focus, and your designs are very well done. I also really like the picture of you with Skye and Trip on your wall." Fitz is startled by the compliments but recovers in time to smile at the comment about the picture. 

"Well, it was my first tattoo. Seemed only fitting to immortalize it."

"I think I’m making the right decision. But I’d still like a few days to be sure."

"Are you hungry?" Fitz asks suddenly, as he switches the glowing open sign off and stashes anything in need of sterilization into the autoclave. It is Simmons turn to be startled, but she nods.

"Yes, actually."

"There’s a good dim sum place across the street. You seem like you might need to get to know a person before you trust them to stick you with needles." he shrugs with one shoulder as he throws a handful of soiled paper towels away. 

"Oh! That does seem like a good idea, yes." 

"Alright. I’ll be finished cleaning up soon, and we can just walk over, if that’s okay?"

"Yes, that’s fine. I’ll go wait in the lobby." 

"So, how did you end up a tattoo artist?" Simmons asks close to an hour later, before shoveling a healthy bite of rice into her mouth.

"Well, I was in school for engineering, and I graduated with an engineering degree. And one day, i was helping rig up a friend’s gun, it was damaged, and he told me to test it for him, on an orange. And I’d always had a knack for drawing, and I decided I liked it, so I taught myself the basics, apprenticed with said friend, and opened a shop up."

"You’re an engineer?" she sounds delighted by this turn of events. 

"Technically, yeah. I could quit and get a job tomorrow at any firm I wanted, basically. Child prodigy." he shrugged and smiled bashfully.

"I thought you seemed young!" she beamed. "I’m a biochemist, by trade, but I’m working as a writer right now." 

"Fancy that." Fiz smiled again and took a bite of pork bun. 

"Oh, so is that how you met Skye and Trip and Ward then?" she looks up at him, curious, then taking a bite of fried noodles.

"Yeah. Speaking of which, how do YOU know them?"

"I met Skye in a bar a few years back, and we just sort of hit it off, oddly enough considering how different we are. And we got really close when she was trying to figure out what to do about Ward and Trip and that whole situation, since i was sort of helping her through the whole thing. Ward and Trip will tell you anything if they’ve been drinking, so I knew they were open to the idea, but Skye just wouldn’t listen." 

"Oh, so you know then? I wasn’t sure how many people did." 

"Yes, of course. Skye’s my best friend. Though she insists she’s more like an older sister to me, despite the fact that I am two years older than her." Simmons rolled her eyes.

"Oh, so she does that to you too? Awful isn’t it?" he chuckles and shoves a dumpling in his mouth all at once, and Simmons’ nose wrinkls distastefully. 

"Boys." she says, but there’s no real malice to it. Fitz grins with a face full of food, and is taken back for a moment at how remarkably comfortable this seems. 

"So why do you want a tattoo?" he asks, and Simmons frowns and plays with her chopsticks, a heavy sigh leaking from her lips. 

"Let’s just say… I’ve reached a certain goal in my life. And I’d like to remind myself how I got there."

"Cryptic." 

"I know, I’m sorry it’s just… very personal. And Im not sure I want to share until the time of reckoning comes." she smiles apologetically and laughs quietly. 

"No, I understand. My tattoos are very private too. Which is odd, for a tattoo artist. Even Skye’s never seen them."

"Are they on your arms? I thought that might be why you had long sleeves on. Though I assumed it was because they were bad, or something." 

"Yes, that’s why." he doesn’t ask about her pants, because he has a hunch, but the timing isn’t right. 

"Well, I’ll be back tomorrow, if that’s alright? I could bring us lunch, I’m a fair cook. I assume you take lunch breaks?"

"Sure. That sounds good." 

Simmons appeared around one the next day, with a bag of food in tow as promised. Fitz saw her come in from the corner of his eye and called out without glancing up from the anchor he was inking into a woman’s bicep. 

"I’ll be done in about fifteen minutes, Simmons." 

"That’s alright! Would you like me to put out your lunch break sign?"

"Sure. Set the hands to 2:30 will ya?" 

"Of course." setting the food down, Simmons found the ‘Out to Lunch’ sign, with it’s clock hands to set a return time, and arranged them properly before hanging it in front of the door and flicking the open sign off. Then she wandered to the back room and watched Fitz finish the tattoo in silence. When the customer was gone, she re-entered the lobby and pulled napkin wrapped sandwiches from the bag on the coffee table. 

"I’ve brought us some sandwiches, and a thermos of tea, and some cookies for dessert." she smiles shyly, and the strange domesticity of it throws Fitz for a loop, until he smells everything. 

"Whatever it is, it smells amazing." he drops onto the couch and can’t help but smile at the post it name tag stuck to his sandwich. 

"Prosciutto, buffalo mozzarella, tomatoes, and a little bit of my homemade pesto aioli. Hopefully it suits you alright."

"That sounds heavenly." he says honestly, as he unwraps the sandwich. Simmons pulls plastic cups from the bag and pours them both a cup of tea. Fitz takes a bite and nearly groans. 

"This is amazing. Seriously. Holy shit." 

"Oh gosh, thank you. I can’t make much but I can make simple things."

"Well, I have two appointments today, and I might have time for a walk in when I’m done with them, so you’re either going to see two or three tattoos today." 

"Oh, good. The more the better." her voice is bright as she takes a bite of her own sandwich. 

"I know you don’t want to tell me where or why you want something done, but have you given any thought as to what?"

"A bit." 

"Care to share?"

"I’ll share if you do." she says after a pause, and she looks over at him, wondering if he’ll take the bait. He thinks for a moment, then nods. 

"Alright. I can tell you a little. Not all of it, but a little." he doesn’t know why he says it. There’s no reason for him to tell this girl he’s known for less than 24 hours anything about himself, let alone something he’s kept to perfectly secret, but he feels compelled to do it anyway. "I have sleeves on both my upper arms, going down about halfway to my wrists, and up around my shoulders down to my shoulder blades. They start black and white on my shoulders and get more colorful as they get closer to my hands. They both end mid forearm with the phrase ‘A Posse Ed Esse’. That’s all you’re getting." 

“‘From being able to being.’ Very nice.” she nods appreciatively and he feels like he should be surprised she knows Latin, but he isn’t.

"Your turn." he says, voice deceptively even, then he shoves a cookie in his mouth.

"Well, I suppose it’s technically two matching tattoos, not one. And I want a specific phrase one each one. ‘C'est tellement mystérieux le pays des larmes’, which is French for ‘It is a mysterious place, the land of tears’ and ‘Se faire printemps c'est prendre le risque de l'hiver’, which means ‘To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter’."

"Someone likes The Little Prince." he says with a soft smile. "Your French is excellent, by the way. As a tattooist I hear a lot of bad imitation accents."

"It’s a personal favorite, yes." she says, somewhat bashfully. 

"it’s a good one. I await the rest of your design with bated breath." he grins cheekily and Simmons blushes, and Fitz feels an unwelcome rush of affection. 

The rest of the day ticks by easily, And Ftiz does indeed get and have time for a walk in at the end of the day. A simple tattoo of a sing lyric on the underside of a middle aged man’s forearm. having observed his habits yesterday, Simmons helps Fitz clean up, and before Fitz knows what he’s doing, he calls out to her as she’s about to leave.

"i’m supposed to go out with Skye and her security detail tonight." he smiles wryly "And as soon as Trip starts drinking, being the lightweight he is, I start to feel like a very weird fourth wheel. Wanna tag along?"

"Oh! You don’t think they’ll mind?"

"Well, you are their friend too, after all." 

"That sounds great then." she says with a nod.

"Alright, cool. We meet at the pub up the street, just past the dim sum place we went to last night." 

The two made their way in companionable silence, Simmons following just behind Fitz to make sure she knew where she was going. The pub she usually went to with Skye and the others was in a different part of town, closer to where she lived, which she assumed was why she’d never met Fitz, despite the mutual friends. A warm glow was coming from the half open doors of their destination, and Fitz held the door open for Simmons, more old habit than courtesy. 

"Skye!" he called with a wave, walking over to where the younger girl sat, firmly between her two boyfriends, and Simmons followed. "I dragged Simmons with me, hope you don’t mind." he waved a hand for the bartender, who smiled at him with familiarity and sent a beer his way, looking to Simmons and waiting. 

"Oh, uh, I’ll have the same." she smiled shyly and slid into a stool. The bartender nodded and slid a bottle towards her as well, and Fitz finally sat down. 

"So are you inked yet, Simmons?" Skye wiggled her eyebrows

"Looks like Fitz managed not to be too much of a cactus, I guess." trip smirked at Fitz, who rolled his eyes and took a swallow of beer.

"No, Skye, not yet. And… cactus?"

"Fitz is prickly." Ward shrugged

"He’s like a grumpy little old man porcupine in the body of a twenty six year old Scottish man." Trip nodded wisely.

"Well, he hasn’t been very ‘prickly’ to me." Simmons wrinkled her nose as she made air quotes around the word, and Fitz thought he might have found that particular expression of hers worryingly adorable. 

"I’d be nicer to you lot if you weren’t such a bunch of losers." 

"Ah, there’s my favorite grump." Skye said affectionately, reaching out to ruffle his hair. 

"Oh dear lord." Fitz rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help but smile a little when he noticed Simmons giggling at him over her beer. "You’re not another lightweight, are you?" he narrowed his eyes. 

"Lord no. I could out drink all three of these idiots. Easy." Simmons rolled her eyes. 

"It’s true, she could." Trip offered. 

"Trip, please. A baby could outdrink you." 

"Or a rabbit. Basically anything could outdrink Trip. No offense." Ward smiled apologetically and Trip waved a hand dismissively. 

"You’re a bunch of alcoholics. All of you." 

"No, just English." Simmons said with a devilish grin before draining her beer in one go and waving down another. Fitz smirked, impressed. 

"I bet you couldn’t outdrink me." he grinned. 

"Oh no." Skye and Ward groaned in unison. 

"Oh, yes." Trip laughed, his eyes lighting up. Simmons eyes narrowed and she looked Fitz up and down.

"You’re on. You dirty Scot."

"Oh, so the kid gloves are off already? Let’s go, English scum."

"This is not going to end well." Ward announced. 

"Nope. But man is it gonna be hilarious." Trip clapped and weaseled his way between Skye and Ward, throwing an arm around both of them as they watched Fitz and Simmons each order a row of shots. 

By the time the two of them were drunk enough to call it quits, Skye, Ward and Trip had wandered home, and Fitz and Simmons were both too drunk to bother declaring a winner. Simmons pulled her phone clumsily from her pocket and then made a loud noise of distress. 

"It’s nearly two am. How on earth am I going to get home!" she sounded remarkably composed, minus the unnecessary loudness she spoke with. Fitz put a hand over her mouth to shush her and shook his head.

"Quiet down, lass. Y’can stay on m’couch if ye want. I promise m’not an axe murderer." 

"Your accent is thicker when you’re drunk. And don’t call me lass." she wrinkled her nose again. "But okay. That sounds fine. My mother would never approve but, really, who gives a rat’s ass about her?" the laugh following the statement is strangely dark, but Fitz is too drunk to push it. 

Somehow, the pair manages to make their very drunk way back to the tattoo parlor, which is really just the bottom floor of Fitz’s place. After getting through the door, Simmons promptly collapses on the lobby couch. 

"That’s not the couch I meant." Fitz slurs, pulling two bottles of water from the mini fridge and walking one over to Simmons. 

"I know. But I am so verrrry very dizzy." she giggles and takes the bottle of water and downs half of it quickly. "Okay." she says suddenly, all laser focus. "Stairs. We have to go up stairs right?"

"Shit. You’re right. Tha’ should be fun." 

But again, they managed, and neither outright fell over. Fitz’s apartment was small, but not a studio, so the bedroom was blessedly separate from the living room. There wasn’t much talking as Fitz found some spare bedding and set it up on the couch, other than a brief fit of chivalry where he said Simmons should take the bed, which she shot down soundly. By the time he crawled into bed, he was exhausted. 

when Fitz woke to the sound of his alarm the next morning, he could hear movement outside. It took him a moment to remember letting Simmons sleep on his couch, but once he did he made sure to remember to pull on a long sleeved shirt before leaving his room. Once he opened the door, he was greeted by a strange sight. Simmons was not only awake, but she’d put the kettle on for tea and appeared to be making breakfast.

"Hello." she chirped, her voice sunny and wide awake. Fitz scrubbed his eyes and blinked. 

"Hi?" his voice was rough with sleep and the blurry edges of a hang over. 

"Something told me you weren’t a morning person, so I’ve boiled water for tea and made some eggs and toast. Hope you don’t mind." 

Fitz blinked again, wondering how the anxious little deer of a human who’d shown up in his shop two days ago was suddenly so relaxed as to loot his cupboards and make breakfast after sleeping on his couch. He also puzzled over why none of this bothered him in the least, but he came up with nothing. So he nodded his thanks, poured a cuppa, and took the proffered plate, eating in silence. 

"You would be morning person." he says almost derisively, after he’ finished his second cup of tea. 

"Ahhh, there’s the old man porcupine Skye warned me about. He must only come out in the mornings." 

"Seriously, how are you so chipper? We were absolutely blasted last night, and you’re… perfectly fine." 

"I don’t get hangovers." she shrugged, her messy morning hair shifting around her shoulders. "Never have." 

"I hate you." 

"You like my cooking." 

"… I will give you that."

"So, what’s your story, Fitz?"

"You gonna tell me yours if I tell you mine?"

"Maybe." her eyes twinkle mysteriously, and as Fitz is rapidly discovering, he cannot seem to say no to her

"Nothing too special. Da took off when I was a kid, eight I think. No brothers, so it was just me and mum and my grandma, until she died when I was twelve. I graduated and went to uni two years early. Graduated top of my class, and then you know the rest mostly. What about you?"

"Nothing of note, honestly. Two parents who, in the interest of frankness, cared far more about my potential than they ever did for my actual life. Graduated early, same as you. I don’t know when you moved here from across the pond, but for me it wasn’t until after uni. I ran away, basically. Haven’t really stopped running since. I’ve been living in the same flat for a year and it’s the longest I’ve been in one place yet. Even back when I met Skye I was jumping from town to town around this general area."

"is that what you’re marking? With the tattoos?"

"Yes and no."

"I feel very comfortable with you." Fitz blurted out in an uncharacteristic moment of bluntness. 

"Oh, good. Then it’s not just me. That makes me feel loads better."

The smile she gives Fitz looks like it might be able to cute cancer, or depression, or something equally ridiculous and impossible. 

Simmons spends another week in the shop. She shadows Fitz or just sits in the lobby, people watching. He’s not really sure if she’s still deciding on a tattoo, or if she just likes it there he hopes it’s a little bit of both, and part of him hopes she’ll never make up her mind and just keep coming in. They go out most nights after Fitz closes up shop, and they talk about basically everything, carefully skating over and around the topic of her future tattoos and the ones winding around his arms. But everything else is fair game, from disastrous first dates to favorite bands to holiday traditions and even family. Simmons tells him all about her maternal grandmother, who was the first person in her family to go to school. Fitz tells her all about his mum, and the blankets she’s knitted him over the years that he still keeps all over his apartment. But they avoid they avoid the forbidden tattoos so carefully it almost shocks him out of his seat one day when she finally mentions it. 

"I’ve made up my mind." she’s got a piece of sketchbook paper in her hands, and she’s fidgeting with the edges. "I’m hardly a stellar artist, but I hope this gets the general idea across." as she pushes the aper towards him, he sees a hint of the person he saw when she walked in for the firs time in days; all tightly wound springs of anxiety. He takes the paper from the table and almost doesn’t want to look at it. It feels too private. But he does. because he’s supposed to. There are two drawings, labeled ‘left’ and ‘right’ in neat tight letters. Her handwriting suits her, he thinks, as he scans the page.

Under the word ‘right’ is a sketch of a gilt frame. Inside the frame was a cross section of the human brain, and underneath the frame was a wide ribbon with the quote about the land of tears written on it. Under the word ‘left’ is a matching frame, but inside it is an easter lily. In another ribbon is the quote about winter and spring. Instantly, Fitz knows his hunch about her reasons was spot on. He doesn’t say anything about that though. 

"Do you want colors?"

"The frames, ribbons and flower, yes. The brain should be black and white, if that’s alright. The flower pink and yellow, sort of water colory, if you can do that? The frames should be brass, and both ribbons should be light blue."

"Yeah, I can do that. It’s gonna take at least two sessions, probably three to be safe. One for lines, and then one for each coloring. We might be able to do all the color in one sitting, if you’ve got a high pain thresh hold."

"If three would be best, we’ll do three." she paused, fidgeting. "Do you want me to explain it?"

"I’m sure when you’re ready, you will. When do you want to start? I’m booked today and tomorrow as far as appointments go, but any day after that is open. 

We’ll start two days from now then. And book me for three sessions, we’ll split it up.”

Even though she’d already made up her mind, and therefor didn’t really need to, Simmons still hung around the shop the next two days, and things continued mostly as normal. On the morning of her appointment, which was Fitz’s first of the day, two unexpected things happened. The first was that she came alone, when he’d been expecting Skye to tag along for moral support. The second was that she was wearing a skirt, and he wondered again about the heavy jeans she’d worn on that first hot day they met. 

"Hi." she said, somewhat awkwardly, and gave him a half wave. He smiled and nodded. 

"I thought you’d bring Skye."

"No, I don’t want her to see anything until everything’s over." she said, her tone light but almost evasive.

"Well, I’ve got some cleaner, larger designs drawn up. Where are we putting these?"

"On my thighs. So the size looks about right." she looked the drawings over and smiled. "They’re beautiful." 

"Well, if you’re happy with them, I’m ready when you are. But you’ll uh, have to take the skirt off. I’m sure you knew that but.. regardless."

"Yes, I know. I’m sort of dreading that bit. No offense, of course."

"None taken. I can look away."

"No.. no. It will be best if I just do it and get it over with. Like a bandaid." she nodded and clenched her eyes shut, fisting her hands into the waist band of the flowing skirt she wore. Decisively, she pushed it down and stepped out of it. She wore a pair of modest blue boyshorts. And suddenly, every suspicion Fitz had was confirmed as he looked at the front of her thighs. They were tracked with scars, as delicate and white as spider’s silk. 

Simmons look terrified, but mostly vulnerable. And not because she was literally exposed. It was the figurative exposure that wore on her, he could see it in the clench of her knuckles. So he took a deep breath, and made a decision. Tattoo artists have notoriously sturdy hands, but his shook like leaves as he unbuttoned his shirt. He wore a tank top underneath it, but Simmons watched curiously as he shrugged the long sleeves off his shoulders. But she could see why as soon as he was done. His arms and shoulders were covered in intense and intricate sleeves, all shades of green and blue, forming tree branches that grew from black and grey roots at his shoulders, down to blue trunks and branches and green leaves past his elbows. And the latin circled both his forearms. Beneath the ink though, she could just barely make out traces of thin white scars the echoed her own. She could have cried. It was, by far, the kindest and most honest thing anyone had ever shown her. 

The inking wasn’t as painful as she anticipated, and Fitz was careful. She’d seen him work, and he was always careful but she could tell with her he was especially careful. He never pressed too hard as he wiped away excess ink and blood, and his fingers were particularly gentle as he smoothed ointment over the finished lines, and taped plastic wrap over them, smoothing everything carefully. 

"What do you think, Simmons?" he asked, his voice cautious. 

"Jemma." she said, staring at him. 

"What?"

"Call me Jemma."

"Leo." he nodded. 

"They’re beautiful, Leo. Absolutely beautiful. I love them." 

"Good. The lines should be healed up enough to go back and do colors in about two weeks."

"Do you mind if I stick around here? Maybe not every day and not all day, but.. some days. I like it here."

"Id love for you to stick around." 

Simmons did make good on her promise not to be around every day, by staying home one day a week. but she was there almost all day every other day of the week. After a week she started wearing pants again, but soft loose ones that wouldn’t irritate the healing tattoos.

When her two weeks were up, Fitz cleared a whole day so they could knock the color out in one session, and she’d only need touch up on shading once the color healed. Simmons was a trooper, barely twitching the entire time, though when Fitz finished, she looked exhausted, even let her head fall onto his shoulder when he sat beside her as they both stared at her thighs. 

"How long have we known each other? A month?"

"Something like that." Fitz nodded.

"Feels like longer, doesn’t it?"

"Yeah, yeah it does." 

"When my tattoos are all finished and healed… could I see yours again?"

"…Yeah. On one condition. Let me put yours on my wall."

"… but why?"

"They’re some of my best work. And I like using meaningful tattoos as my examples."

"It’s a deal." she said, nodding. Her voice was quiet. 

Another two weeks passed in what had become normal for the pair of twenty somethings. Simmons lurked around the shop and brought Fitz sandwiches at lunch, and in the evenings they went out with Skye, Ward and Trip or went upstairs to Fitz’s room and drank beer and watched bad television while lying on the floor talking about books and philosophy and whether life has an intrinsic meaning or if they’re all just figuring it out as they go along. Skye pesters them together and separately about what’s going on with them, but they never answer. Because the truth is neither of them knows. 

it only takes Fitz an hour to put the finishing touches on Simmons’ thighs. The gilt frames gleam and the brain is clean and neat, and the flower glows with bright fiery watercolors. The ribbons stretch neat and even across her thighs, and the marks beneath the art nearly disappears. As Fitz bandaged the tattoos for the last time, he let his hands ghost down the scars on the outside of her thighs. 

"Why did you do it?" it’s not an accusation, but a genuine question. Simmons takes a deep breath, but answers with a steady voice. 

"I got so wrapped up, in uni, in being practical and the good girl and the perfect student that I sort of… shut myself off. Emotionally. it got scary, how little I actually felt. It made me feel less numb. And I felt terrible ad sad and guilty afterwards. But it was… something."

"i was angry. Angry at the world, still angry at my dad. Angry at me. For some reason, it made me feel less angry. Only way I could let anything out. It was stupid but. It is what it is." 

"When did you stop?"

"Two years ago, last month. And you stopped a year ago, right? I’m guessing that’s what the tattoos were celebrating." 

"Yeah. One year last week." 

"Congratulations." 

"You’re the only person to ever see them." 

"So are you." 

"Thank you." 

"For what?"

"The tattoos. For letting me see. For… everything, I guess." 

”..You’re welcome. And thank you too.” 

"You’re welcome."

For the week between the finishing touches and when the tattoos would be healed enough to photograph, Simmons started crashing on Fitz’s couch. She was spending most of her time int he shop or other various places on that end of town with Fitz or Skye and Trip and Ward, so it was easier just to sleep there. Sometimes Fitz would pass out on the armchair nearby, once even on the floor, with the tv still glowing blue in the background. it was strangely easy, their temporary cohabitation. 

"And you’re sure you’re okay with this?" Fitz asked, holding his good camera in steady hands as Simmons stood in a pair of rolled up pajama shorts in the back of the studio, sitting perfectly still with a light shining on the newly healed tattoos. 

"Yes. It’s a new start. Seems fitting." 

"Alright." He positioned the camera over her thighs, making sure to frame both tattoos evenly, and focused the shot manually until all the detail was clear. He took close up shots of each thigh too, and when he was satisfied, put his camera down.

"A deal’s a deal." Simmons said with a smirk, and Fitz smiled smiled grimly, then shucked off his sweater. He wore another tank top beneath it, and once again, Simmons could see the beautiful tattoos on his arms, surprisingly well muscled for his size. She reached an arm out, but didn’t touch him until he nodded, then ran her hand down his arm. She could feel the ink raised in places, and the slightest texture of scar tissue all along his skin. Her fingers traced the leaves along his collar bones, just as he moved to outline the frames on her thighs with his own. She’s not sure if he leaned into her, or she grabbed him by the tank top straps and pulled him to her, and neither is he. But regardless of who initiated, they are kissing, and nothing in the world has ever felt more right. Fitz’s hands skim gently over Simmons’ bare thighs while she grips tightly to his shoulders. It’s been so long since someone has touched the actual skin of his shoulders it’s unsettlingly intimate. 

"Is this a terrible idea?" she whispers against his lips, looking up at him, eyes bright and wide and looking every bit as gorgeous as she has ever day since he met her. 

"I hope not." he whispers back, sliding her closer to him. She kisses him again, and everything else melts away into nothing. 

Fitz wakes up slowly, the next morning, and something is strange. There’s a hand on his shoulder, tracing the lines of the leaves and branches down his arms with careful precision. Even so soon after meeting her, he recognizes the feather lightness of her touches and smiles. She’s rolled out of his heavy quilt and lies on her side, smiling sleepily at him. He sees his own artwork on her thighs and smiles back, brighter than before. 

"Oh, I could get used to his." he mumbles playfully. 

"I might make a morning person of you after all." she giggles, and raises her eyebrows. 

"I think I’m in love with you." he says, his own voice surprising him. He blinks, not knowing how the words slipped out so easily. 

"That’s alright. I’m in love with you too." her voice is soft like the pillows and cautious like the sun peeking from behind the clouds he can see through his windows. He pulls her into his arms and presses a kiss to her hair, fingers running up and down her arms. 

"Think you’ll ever let me give you another tattoo?"

"Hmmm… yes. Someday."

"There’s a someday?"

"I certainly hope so."

"Good. A chemical symbol made to look like stars would look delightful on your shoulders." he pressed a kiss to the skin there and she laughed. 

"Come on, you have work to do. And I think Skye is coming in today." 

"Oh lord, she and the security detail will have a fit with this." 

"Let them. We’ll be the ones having fun later." she winked playfully and then rolled out of bed. 

"Maybe you will make me into a morning person." Fitz said incredulously, before following suit. 

The photograph of Simmons’ thigh tattoos hung next to the one of Skye’s ankle tattoo in the entryway of the shop. The customers seemed to share Fitz’s opinion that it was some of his best work, and they always delighted in seeing it in person on the rare, though increasingly common. occasions where Simmons’ wore shorts or skirts that showed them off. She did let Fitz give her another tattoo, a dopamine molecule diagram on her left shoulder that did, in fact, look an awful lot like a constellation. Unbeknownst to Skye, Fitz had a matching molecule on the right side of his lower back. He’d been hesitant at first, until Simmons rationalized they were more friendship tattoos than matching lover’s tattoos, and both held up fine without the other. 

Two months after the matching-not-matching tattoos, Simmons moved into Fitz’s apartment permanently, after landing a gig at a nearby research lab and publishing her first book. And eventually, she did indeed make him into a morning person.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this story sort of came out of nowhere! It's super AU so I hope I managed to keep everyone mostly in character. Reviews and constructive criticism are super appreciated! Tattoo info might not be super accurate but it should be at least mostly right, since I have four, haha. This is un-betaed so if there are any awful errors I am very sorry. It's late.


End file.
